


I Saw Your Cock in Korea

by annabeth_at_the_helm



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: 1950s, Adultery, Anonymous Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Cheating, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Glory Hole, Infidelity, Korean War, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Trapper's Clydesdale, Unsafe Sex Practices, bareback blowjob, period-typical illegal homosexual behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_at_the_helm/pseuds/annabeth_at_the_helm
Summary: A Treatise on Trapper's Clydesdale, by Hawkeye PierceHawkeye is about as intimately acquainted with this cock as it's possible to be without actually having sucked it before.written as a bonus for "Dirty Dirty Dirty" for Banned Together Bingo.
Relationships: "Trapper" John McIntyre/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	I Saw Your Cock in Korea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadesofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/gifts).



> Title is a play on "I Saw Your Cock On Craigslist" by Jonny McGovern (The Gay Pimp). The song is the inspiration for this fic. (Only without the cheating. Well, sort of, since Trapper's cheating.)

Hawkeye knows better. The Army doesn't exactly condone this sort of behavior. The thing is, though, Hawkeye has forgotten about the likelihood of getting caught and possible consequences—because he's on his knees, on the dirty bathroom floor, face at a level with the hole cut into the partition of the stall—and the cock bobbing in front of him is _familiar_.

More than familiar, actually: Hawkeye has seen this dick in various stages, from soft and lying in impressive length against the owner's thigh, to half-mast when a nurse walked by, to straight up against his belly when Hawkeye accidentally—on purpose—sneaked a peak in the supply tent, both of them _supplied_ all right, but with nurses.

For one thing, it's the size. Hawkeye could never mistake the size—the thing that's made his mouth water multiple times whenever he caught a glimpse. But it's also the shape, the girth, the blonde hair tufted at the base. Hawkeye is about as intimately acquainted with this cock as it's possible to be without actually having sucked it before.

And now he has the chance, but his knees are beginning to hurt from the floor, and his mouth is flooded with saliva, but—even though the man rocks on his heels and makes his cock bounce with impatience—Hawkeye is too arrested by the idea that this man would enter the men's room in a bar in Tokyo and expect a blowjob. From another man.

Still, Hawkeye can't disappoint him. More to the point, he doesn't want to disappoint _himself._ Because this cock could belong to only one man, and that man is his bunkmate.

And it's not Frank.

Hawkeye doesn't know why Trapper would seek out a gloryhole or another man's mouth, especially since if he's hiding in the closet, he's doing a really good job, but he might as well oblige him—even if it means going back to the 4077th pretending he hasn't sucked him off.

So he takes a moment to lick his lips, to wet them thoroughly, then curls his fingers around the fat shaft, feeling the pulse of Trapper's heart through the skin, and opens his mouth wide enough for his jaw to crack. He inserts Trapper's cock into his mouth, then clamps down on it with the benefit of only his lips—he's a master at giving head, he's perfected his technique—and sucks powerfully. The scent that fills his nostrils is musky and a little sweaty, but Hawkeye doesn't mind it, because it means he's been _this close_ to Trapper in ways he never expected.

From the next stall over, there's a thump, as if Trapper's pounded the wall with his palm, and a groan, as if Trapper's surprised by the way it feels. Which is ludicrous, of course, because naturally Trapper must have gotten blowjobs before. Hawkeye knows from experience that Lt. Dish was amenable to it, even if it's possible some of the nurses aren't. Maybe Trapper's wife doesn't, or won't, but Lt. Dish wasn't bad at it.

Then again, Hawkeye is pretty confident in his abilities. If he had to compare what it felt like to have Lt. Dish do it to him, versus what he knows he's capable of, he'd say he's better at it, anyway.

These thoughts carefully sorted, Hawkeye goes back to his task with gay abandon, licking unevenly along the length, tongue rising till he hits the tip, where he prods Trapper's slit with the tip of his tongue. But suddenly all of his tricks go out the window, when Trapper's pelvis slams against the wall, his dick sliding down Hawkeye's throat, and Hawkeye realizes two things: 1) Trapper's size is an issue. It's a good thing, in some ways, but it's also a disadvantage; and 2) the delight he feels in having _this_ cock, above all others, in his mouth is making him feel green at giving head, like he's a teenager again.

Still, Hawkeye's throat relaxes without him really consciously thinking about it, and he tastes the bitter fluid filling his mouth as Trapper becomes more and more excited; his cock pumps in between his lips, hard as stone encased by the softest skin imaginable, and Hawkeye closes his eyes and simply _savors_. He twirls his tongue around the crown as Trapper withdraws a little, and even though he can't see Trapper's face or touch his hips, and even though Trapper can't read cues except through the pressure of his mouth, they manage an instinctive rhythm. Trapper begins to thrust, slowly, waiting for Hawkeye to adjust; and Hawkeye, on every inward stroke, laves the length with his tongue. He rubs his lips against it, and allows it to fall from his mouth in a moment of well-coordinated surprise—for Trapper, of course—and nuzzles it with his nose and lips. He grazes it with his teeth, so gently it's almost imperceptible, and his hand, still encircling his girth, tightens into a strong squeezing motion.

Trapper makes a heartaching little gasp, and his hips move unevenly, and Hawkeye takes pity on him: he gulps him down again, as much as he can fit, as far as he can get into his throat. And then he works his throat deliberately around his cock, humming as he does so, and that's apparently all it takes: Trapper pounds the partition again, and chokes on words—Hawkeye suspects he realized almost too late he shouldn't speak, less he be identified—and comes, so hard, into Hawkeye's mouth.

Hawkeye, now that he's seen to Trapper's infinite pleasure, takes a moment to shift on his aching knees and reach into his fatigues. He strokes himself quickly, with no need for finesse—this experience has gotten him harder and more aroused than he's been since he got to Korea, and possibly since he was still sleeping with Tommy—and swallows the load of come that's spurting into his mouth.

Trapper mumbles something, too low to hear beyond the fact that they're words, and then he begins to retreat. Hawkeye wants to grab for his cock, to keep it from disappearing, but that's not how these anonymous sex acts are supposed to go—and it's going to be awkward enough to face Trapper now that he knows what Trapper came here for. They'd separated in Tokyo tonight, Hawkeye gesturing vaguely to this bar—but it also could have been the normal bar across the alley—and Trapper had said something about visiting geisha houses, so Hawkeye never would have expected this.

Especially since Trapper's not just married, but has always acted straighter than an arrow, though Hawkeye's beginning to think now that it's more like the arrows in front of the Swamp, not your standard arrow.

In moments the hole is empty, and he can see the man on the other side tucking himself back into olive drab army briefs, pulling his fatigues up thighs that are, in their own way, as familiar as his cock—and unlatching the stall door.

Hawkeye finishes himself off into a piece of toilet tissue, feeling his cock spasm, the throbbing in his length beating in time with his heart, and soaking the paper in his fist with come. He slumps forward, forehead landing against the partition—which is probably none too sanitary, but Hawkeye's overwhelmed—and realizes his breathing is erratic and his face is sweaty. He's thinking, now—instead of about that recognizable cock—about those thick thighs that could easily squeeze his head like a vise, with their dusting of light blonde hair, and taut muscle. Hawkeye wants to bury his face into one and bite it, suckle a hickey into place, clench his own thighs together and ride out his orgasm with Trapper's scent in his nose.

And now, thanks to this, he knows what Trapper smells like between his legs, at the base of his cock, the aroma of his balls—even though he couldn't touch them. Hawkeye is still recovering when someone knocks on the door, and he realizes it's time to escape, to let someone else have a turn.

Which is just as well, because this particular cock-sucking has ruined him for all others, and he has no desire to stay here any longer.

The bigger question—besides whether he wants to suck anyone else's cock ever again—remains: what does he have to do to get Trapper to admit to liking men, so that he can suck him again?

END


End file.
